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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27583804">Peroxide Prince</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWokeUpAFraud/pseuds/IWokeUpAFraud'>IWokeUpAFraud</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bandom, Fall Out Boy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Ass Play, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Consensual Non-Consent, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Face-Fucking, Forced Orgasm, Hate Sex, Humiliation, Infidelity, Light BDSM, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Hiatus (Fall Out Boy), Rimming, Sexual Roleplay, Sub Drop, Translation to English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:30:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,513</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27583804</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWokeUpAFraud/pseuds/IWokeUpAFraud</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick just got married; Pete needs to put him back in his place and remind him who he really belongs to.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Peroxide Prince</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            A translation of

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25598032">Peroxide Prince</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sxmi_Sweet/pseuds/Sxmi_Sweet">Sxmi_Sweet</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>DISCLAIMER:<br/>A slight warning before we start, I reccomend you to read to avoid surprises.<br/>This fic has explicit sexual content, BDSM undertones and consensual-non-consent.<br/>In CNC it is primordial the use of safewords to set boundaries. Inside the scenes, verbal and physical refusals and things like humilliation are part of the game; that's why I repeat, you use safewords.<br/>As a content creator, I take full resposibility for the susceptibility of the reader, that's why I beg you to keep this warning in mind before reading.<br/>Once again, this story shows two adults maintaining a consenting sexual relationship with roleplay in the middle, roleplay that both sides enjoy, to clarify.<br/>I do not tolerate any kind of romantization of abuse.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Does your wife know the way...?” Pete started, hiding his smile in Patrick’s neck. The question was left unanswered, his words died when Patrick opened his legs to give him more room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t talk, please.” He muttered. His voice didn’t sound at all like the one he remembered. It sounded broken, weak. Pete didn’t listen and raised his head to look at him with more detail. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick didn’t look back. His beautiful blue eyes were avoiding him. Pete grabbed his chin and furrowed his eyebrows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His Patrick looked so different, so sad. He felt his heart sink into his chest. At the same time, a feeling of satisfaction began to grow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look charming, Tricky.” He muttered. “Remember the Soul Punk show in LA?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waited for a moment to see his reaction and the blush covering his cheeks was totally worth it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick made an affirmative sound, Pete giggled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So sexy.” He started kissing him, Patrick kissed back immediately. “Fuck, Trick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was drunk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even when you took me to your apartment and rode me, huh? You didn’t look drunk at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For God’s sake.” Patrick covered his face with his hands, Pete laughed even harder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened to that Patrick?” He changed his tone, now his voice was dry and rough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s still here. I’m the same as always.” He replied. Pete’s mouth frowned as he grabbed him slightly tighter than he should.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And the Patrick before that one? The Patrick that sang me to sleep? The one who said I was his best friend? The one who let me sleep with him when I had nightmares?” Pete couldn’t help the bitter tone. Patrick shook his head and refused to answer, just kissing him to prevent the words from ruining the atmosphere. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re not having that conversation right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” He grumbled between his lips. They shifted positions, Patrick laid back on the bed and let Pete climb on top of him, without letting go of the other. Pete started to unbutton his shirt, Patrick shivered in response to his touch. “I miss your suits. They looked good on you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I miss your eyeliner, but we’re not gonna go back there, are we?” He said. Pete sighed and finished taking his shirt off. Patrick went back to his lips and kissed him as he could never have enough of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete took a moment to look at his body. Little was left of what it used to be. At least his ribs weren’t as prominent as they were back during Soul Punk, but even then, he was wonderful. In fact, he always had been, Everything about Patrick was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete felt the fucking butterflies once again. Once. Fucking. Again. He thought he was over it, but no, Patrick always managed to make him fall for him every single time. Though maybe the butterflies never went away, maybe they were always there, wreaking havoc since more than a decade ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt dizzy. The love he felt for Patrick was dangerous and dirty, overwhelming, and obsessive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And when he saw his expectant look, his swollen lips from the makeout session, and his mouth agape because of the lack of air, he realized that the feeling was irreversible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take off your clothes, I don’t want to be the only one,” Patrick said. Pete snapped out of his daydream and winked to later take his shirt off and unbutton his pants. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you comfortable with us being naked?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they were young, Patrick was terrified of Pete watching him shirtless and always asked to do it with the lights off. Until Soul Punk happened and he began enjoying putting up a show for him. But that era was over and Patrick looked shy and distant, so he wasn’t really sure how to proceed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t matter.” He shrugged. Pete took it as a sign to take his pants off, but he wasn’t in a hurry. He took them off as he kissed him back, tasting his lips and getting lost in them, taking time to caress his naked torso.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick let out a small moan and bit his lower lip softly. When he was left in his underwear, he looked down a bit to take a look at his boner covered by the fabric, and his mouth watered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me taste you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t have time for that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have all the time in the world.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t reply, because Pete’s mouth went straight to his neck and the words vanished from his mouth. His breath quickened. Patrick melted as he felt his wet kisses in that place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kisses trailed down slowly, Pete was torturing him with desire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I missed you so much,” Pete whispered, Patrick moaned and sat on the edge of the bed, leaving him enough space for him to fit in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please,” he begged breathlessly. “We don’t have enough time,” he repeated. Pete ignored him again, taking his time to savor his skin, he even took the liberty of leaving small marks, little bites, and an obvious ownership certificate on the inside of his thighs. A sign that said </span>
  <em>
    <span>Private property</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick hadn’t noticed. His eyes were closed, lips tight and hands fisted on the sheets. Pete smiled again. He hoped Elisa saw those marks. He crossed his fingers for her to finally understand that Patrick was his, that she would never be enough </span>
  <em>
    <span>(not even himself was enough)</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He got up again to leave a soft kiss on the pale skin of his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So beautiful.” He whispered. “So mine. Only mine. My Trick...” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could see the small flash of uncomfortability in Patrick’s face, and God, it felt so good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kneeled once again and touched him under the fabric, looking interested in the way Patrick bit his bottom lip. He slid his boxers, he took them off completely, and stopped to observe, marveled, the masterpiece he had before his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pale body in contrast with the darkness of his, a nice metaphor of the reality they were living, covered by a slight blush that extended from his neck to his ears, covering his cheeks beautifully. His facial complexion, perfect, his dream cheekbones. It was a pity that his eyes were closed because that was his favorite quality of his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And last, but not least, another of his favorite qualities of Patrick, his lower zone. His legs, God, Pete would die in between those thighs. And he didn’t have the words to describe how much his thick cock turned him on, a little darker than the rest of his body and definitely bigger than the average. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete was smitten. He didn’t know if it was love. He didn’t believe in love, but he was dangerously close, leaning more towards obsession. An obsession that had started when he saw those impossible eyes and that shy smile. Pete knew he was fucked, that he should walk away, but being honest, who could walk away from Patrick Stump?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took him in his mouth without a rush, sucking and jerking him off at the same time. It had been a couple months since the last time he sucked a dick, and Patrick’s was big, more than he could take being rusty in the practice. He took as much as he could in, around half of it, the rest was covered by his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew Patrick’s body. He knew how to handle him to turn him into a mess of sighs and begs. He knew how to touch and where. He had learned a lot through the years: his body reacted exaggeratedly to dirty talk despite him completely denying it; it was just enough pinning him against the wall, so he stopped being his usual grumpy and bossy. That the only way to control his temper was to fuck him until he was able just to say his name and sob.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had talked about it, they even had established a safeword not to risk it, even though their relationship didn’t reach the BDSM territory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Safeword?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chicago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Color?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Green,” he moaned. Pete smiled, taking him back into his mouth. His lover shuddered and bit his lower lip, clearly trying to hide the pleasure coursing through his veins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew Patrick, and even though he was acting like </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh so regretful </span>
  </em>
  <span>and reluctant to his touch, he begged for more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Pete wasn’t content, in fact, he was furious. All of his life he was just a footnote in other people’s happiness; Patrick’s dirty little secret, even though he had begged for his loves thousands of times and asked for chances on his knees, in between tears and empty promises. It always ended the same way, a cold </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry, Pete, but I’m going serious with her, </span>
  </em>
  <span>talking about whatever girl he was dating at that moment, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>this is the last time</span>
  </em>
  <span>, before looking for him in his hotel room when they were on tour, a '</span>
  <em>
    <span>we’ll destroy each other if we carry on with this.'</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They were, they were indeed destroying each other, piece by piece. Pete couldn’t take it anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick moaned with his eyes closed, now that Pete was sucking his dick the lack of time wasn’t relevant anymore, was it? His hands went up from his shoulders to his hair, he tangled his fingers and left them there. Pete hollowed his cheeks, turning his head and setting the rhythm Patrick liked; looking at him through his eyelashes, with the useless hope that he returned visual contact, but as usual, this never happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pete, please.” He ignored the desperation in his voice and sped up, which made Patrick whimper. “Pete! I’m gonna come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stepped away for a moment to smirk at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So fast?” He spoke, fingers wrapped around his hard cock, but didn’t make a move. “Has it been so long since the last time you got fucked good, huh? Are you gonna come so soon, like a hormonal teenager? Who’d say so, Patrick Stump can’t take </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt Patrick’s prick pulsate in his hand. Both of them noticed, he looked away, Pete smirk widened. Something else he had noticed over the years, being degraded and humiliated turned Patrick on, and oh if Pete hadn’t had fun exploiting that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closed his fist around his cock, jerking him off painfully slow. Patrick shivered, gripping the sheets so hard that his knuckles turned white. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please. Stop. I’m gonna…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t that what you want?” He replied, Patrick, dared look at him, with his jaw tensed. He knew that look and he was delighted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pete,” He said, but he ignored him again, Patrick had an alarmed look on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Say the magic word and I will.” Patrick clenched his teeth, stubborn to the core. “A pity, Lunchbox.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that? I didn’t hear you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pete, please.” A few tears fell from his eyes in frustration. Pete had mercy for him and let him go, Patrick sighed relieved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want it that much?” He laughed at him. “Well, I don’t think so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick didn’t answer, it was like he had gotten lost and had trouble processing anything else that wasn’t the friction of their bodies. Pete gave him an evil smile, he had successfully pushed the exact buttons needed to leave him vulnerable and submissive, to have the freedom to do whatever he wanted of him and that Patrick had no other choice but to take it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On your knees on the floor.” Patrick refused to obey his orders, so Pete had to force him to, and once he was on the floor, he ripped away his pants. “God, you never learn. How many times do I have to tell you to learn not to be so useless?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The answer was immediate, his body turned a more pronounced shade of red and he could notice how his dick tugged interested. Predictable. Patrick was way, way dirtier than people believed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What will you do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Revenge.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck does that mean, Wentz?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick was still on his knees (not like he had much choice, anyway) facing his boner. He was breathing heavily, sight blocked by his dick, unable to look him in the eye, as always.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He brushed his tip to that bottom lip that he had been daydreaming about for most of his life, that little piece of illicit Eden that he had the privilege to taste. Patrick opened his mouth, trying to take him in, but Pete grabbed him by the hair and forced him to look at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t say you could do it, Tricky.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He let him go slowly, Patrick’s face burned, maybe because of revenge or anger, but anyway, Pete was enjoying it. Patrick opened his mouth to retort, but Pete bucked his hips and without giving him any time, he pushed his cock as far as he could. Patrick let out a high moan in surprise and his eyes started tearing up for the effort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kept the rhythm with short and fast thrusts, Patrick just kept his mouth open and his jaw tensed, minding that his teeth didn’t touch the dick in his mouth, without being able to do much more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sight was obscene in indescribable ways. Pale, smooth skin covered by a slight scarlet tinge, back arched like only Patrick knew how to do. —with every fall he had learned to make a show of his body—, lips stretched around his prick, saliva, and precum sliding down his chin, while he did all he could not to choke. His own dick, hard against his stomach. A living portrait of the sin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was an interesting contrast to his eighteen-year-old self. Back then, his boy did everything he could to hide and got offended when Pete tried to reach his ass. His movements were clumsy and uncomfortable, but Patrick, as stubborn as ever, pretended to be confident in what he did. Pete was convinced that on that one time, in the bed in his old room in his parent’s house, he had taken his virginity. Just like the first time, he had convinced him to go down, but Patrick never confirmed or denied that truth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the passing of the years, submitting him became an easier task. At some point in their encounters, they stopped changing places and once he took enough confidence, Patrick gave in completely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a mutual agreement. Patrick, being a control freak, needed to stop thinking once in a while, simply just follow orders and let himself be used. Pete was more than happy to do it for him. The stop to their illegitimate relationship came at the end of From Under the Cork Tree and carried on until Folie a Deux, and for a series of events that were out of his control, ended up catastrophically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gave a last deep thrust before letting him go and putting his dick aside. Patrick coughed and wiped the corner of his mouth with his wrist, then the tears that had slid down his cheeks. He was devastated and Pete was completely in love with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pete?” His voice was thin, rough, and insecure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna eat you, sweetheart.” He caressed his cheek. “Oh, and don’t even think of coming before me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pete, I can’t, I’m too sensitive. I don’t think I…” He bit the inside of his mouth. “I’m so close.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete returned to his initial position, behind him, also on his knees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care.” He mumbled. “Look what we got here.” He said appreciatively, taking his ass in his hands, marveled at the sight. He left his entrance exposed and caressed it with his thumb, slow, soft moves to relax him. Patrick was so receptive that he moaned and shuddered in response. Pete let out an evil chuckle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They hadn’t fucked in a while, but when he found out about the engagement, —a fucking mail invitation, nothing else. Patrick was a fucking coward.—he lost his mind. He needed to remind Patrick that they belonged to each other, that it didn’t matter who tried to replace him because Pete would always be there, that Patrick was condemned to a life next to him. Apparently, that wasn’t enough, because months after the wedding, Patrick called him again and cited him in a hotel in the outskirts of California. Now, weeks after, it had been his turn to ask for his company.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needed Patrick to hate himself in the same way he hated him (and hated himself).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were impure beings, love wasn’t enough and it would never be. The damage was done and it would remain there, hurting with glass shards of a future that once could have been promising, of a past where there wasn’t anything else that tears and desire to die. An abstract reminder that he was unable to love and that he had corrupted his little soulmate to an unfixable point. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lube,” Patrick asked, Pete, pretended not to hear him. He didn’t need it, not yet, at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spread his cheeks with both hands and without waiting, he licked his entrance. Patrick jumped and tried to run away but he grabbed him strongly by the hips, strong enough to leave bruises. Patrick's reaction to his mouth there was always exquisite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He started sniffling and begging, the grip on his hips didn’t allow him to do anything about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was doing it softly, wet licks around his hole, preparing him to take his fingers. Patrick stopped fighting back, sobbing quietly with his face on the ground, pressed against his arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete got bored and felt like that was teasing enough, so he got up to get the little bottle of lube he kept in his bag. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop crying, don’t be pathetic.” He hissed, pouring the liquid in his hands. Patrick lifted his face to look at him, pretty blue eyes painted with panic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pete, no. Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not asking you, Trick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He inserted the first finger laboriously. Patrick was so tight, like that time he had fucked him in a motel after a Soul Punk show, hidden from the rest of society. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Next time I’ll have to make you wear a plug. You’re too tight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There won’t be a next time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be so sure.” He said mockingly. “You’re so predictable, you always come back crawling.” He pushed another finger to the knuckle, without stopping to allow him to get used to it. “You won’t say anything this time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick didn’t answer, he was too overwhelmed to do so. A broken sigh was enough of an answer. Pete moved both fingers until Patrick began sobbing again and moving his hips against his fingers, despite letting out whines and begging him to leave him alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop. I’m…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He got it. He was so overwhelmed that holding his orgasm back was hurting him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does it hurt, sweetie?” He asked, Patrick, nodded weakly. “Well, that's my intention.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He removed the fingers. Patrick’s legs were trembling, he was about to collapse, but Pete did nothing to help him steady himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The scene before him was wonderful. Patrick was completely exposed and vulnerable to him. Small bruises began forming on his thighs and hips, green and purplish marks that guaranteed that he was his. Pete couldn’t restrain himself and bit softly on one of his cheeks. Patrick gave him a look full of hatred from over his shoulder, but it didn’t last long because he went back to place his mouth over that part of his body and pushing inside him with his tongue and fingers, being careful of not touching his prostate. Patrick twitched, still putting up a fight as if he had an option; as if he hadn’t begged to have Pete’s tongue inside him mere weeks ago. He was a slut for rimming and it made no sense to pretend he wasn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He inserted a third finger, he was ready, but it didn’t hurt to torture him a little. He wanted to record Patrick’s body responses at that state on his retinas. He wanted to have that look close to him, the way he looked completely wrecked, at his mercy to use him whenever he wanted. So he grazed his prostate. Patrick flinched and let out a broken moan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna come.” He warned. “Please, Pete.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please what? If you don’t tell me what you want I can’t give it to you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, he was trembling and it was hard for him to speak, it showed that he was fighting hard to contain his orgasm. Pete kept moving his fingers against his prostate, slowly, licking over his perineum occasionally. And yet he still was fucking prideful. He placed his free hand over his cock, just to teach him a lesson. Patrick tried to pull away again but to no avail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or what?” Patrick didn’t reply. “Are you gonna come, huh? I don’t think so, Tricky. I didn’t give you permission. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, please, please.” He whispered breathlessly. “I need it. I can’t anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are only two words that can help you right now, little one, and you very well know which ones they are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to fuck me or not?” He growled. Pete clicked his tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need to work on your attitude.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stepped aside and poured lube over his dick, aligning himself with Patrick’s entrance. Patrick got out of his trance and shook his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Color?” He softened his tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Green.” He purred, but then frowned. “Stop asking, you know I’ll use the fucking word if I need to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I needed to make sure, I mean, you were crying.” He pointed out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t crying.” He protested. Pete shook his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever you say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t help it, he liked to play around, but sometimes he worried that he was being too harsh. Deep down, he worried about him. Patrick rolled his eyes, annoyed and grumbled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not good at this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that bastard, Michael, is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brendon.” He corrected him. Pete clenched his jaw. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You fucked Brendon?” Patrick didn’t answer. It wasn’t necessary. “You’re a fucking slut, Patrick.” He spat, his blood boiling inside his veins. “Does your wife know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was when we weren’t together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does she know now?” He mocked, grazing his tip against his entrance. “Does she know that the gentleman that is her husband was fucked by his best man in the restroom right before the wedding? That you had my cock down your throat minutes before vowing to love her for all eternity?” Patrick tensed and refused to look at him. “Pathetic” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete thrust all at once, suddenly pushing in his entire length. Patrick gave a choked moan, breathless. His entire body was trembling. He felt so tight and so warm. A sensation of familiarity coursed through his body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You take me so well, Tricky. You see? You’re made for me and only for me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to erase the trace of people before him, every little kiss and touch that wasn’t his. His final goal, that Patrick forgot about every word that wasn’t his name. He was a first-class narcissist, he didn’t need any reminders, besides, he felt strangely possessive on anything related to Patrick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He liked the position they held at that moment. It wasn’t ideal, but it was close enough. He had a privileged view of Patrick’s ass taking in his cock, which was a bonus; though he was missing out on his expressions and his face in general.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t take long to find his prostate. Years of sporadic encounters added up to give him a master's on his body. Patrick moved his ass toward him, in a desperate attempt to get more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He noticed that he already was in the frenetic state preceding his orgasm and had lost all trace of modesty. Pete slowed down his thrusts and decided to go for depth because he knew Patrick, and the result was a slight sob.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not going to come until I say so.” He reminded him. He didn’t need to look at his face to notice the desperation and anger in his expression. “You know I can last a lot if I want to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was an empty threat. He could do it, long ago —way before reaching thirty— when Patrick had just discovered how much he liked sex (with him) and fucked for entire nights, in hotels during tours or rented apartments. Patrick was a little insatiable succubus at the time, with a short temper. He wanted everything and he wanted </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span> and only his way. Did he want him against the wall? Pete obeyed without thinking twice. In the restroom of a recording studio? Pete stretched him there without letting him finish the sentence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Did he want to sleep with him after a movie night, lying on his chest? Pete accepted with his heart on his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was always yes to Patrick. He always gave him everything to keep him happy by his side. Until, suddenly, those </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes’</span>
  </em>
  <span> turned into </span>
  <em>
    <span>no’s</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and the effort to earn his love had gone into the trash in the blink of an eye. He never knew why —actually, he didn’t want to admit it—. They were lovers that couldn’t be anything else. Soulmates destined to never be together. The bitter irony of a starless universe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head before his mind hopped on the train of thought that his thoughts were following. He’d continue with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>What did go wrong?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Which answer he knew perfectly and burned sour on the tip of his tongue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He focused on Patrick’s tightness, it never failed to amaze him. He could fuck him a thousand and one times and never get enough of him. It was a drug and Pete had gone dependent. That’s why he could never let him go, he would never find someone like him. He felt him tense. The moans and begs that escaped his mouth turned erratic, almost senseless. Pleads that repeated his name in distress.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t anymore. Let me…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get on the bed, sweetheart. Don’t wanna hurt your knees, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That would give him a rest and would help him delay the need for release. Patrick tried to stand up, but he stumbled and almost fell, too weak and overwhelmed. Pete had to pick him up and lay him on the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now they faced each other, and Pete noticed how much he missed looking at his face. A pity that the intensity of his wonderful eyes was hidden behind his eyelids.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thrusted inside him again; now with a hand on his cock and another one on his throat. He thrusted into him slowly, with precise and gentle moves. Creating the atmosphere that Patrick loved even though he didn’t want to admit it. Making him feel how important he was to him and the deep and irreverent affection he felt; because he planned to play with him and give him the wrong idea that they were making love.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It made him feel young again. Full of life and hope. He kissed his neck and whispered sweet words to his ear, things that the boy needed to hear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He built trust. Patrick gripped the sheets between his fingers, to later let them go and turn his hands to his back. The skin on skin. A unidimensional exchange of body heat. He began moving his hips against his, implicitly asking for a little more, but Pete wouldn’t give it to him until he said it out loud. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pete,” He sighed with satisfaction, “I missed you so much.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mouth shaped into a malicious smile. Patrick had opened his mouth without thinking and hadn’t noticed his words. No problem, his name always tasted charming on his lips. He thrusted deeper in reward, grazing his sensitive spot several times until he made him whimper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Open your eyes.” He didn’t, he shook his head. “No? Then I won’t let you come today. You hear me?” Patrick opened his eyes, alarmed and Pete laughed. “I thought so. Now keep them open. I want you to look at me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was hard for him, it was ridiculously obvious; because of the pleasure and shame of having the dick of his supposed best friend buried in his ass and for enjoying it so much. He didn’t get tired of repeating it. Patrick was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>pathetic.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The thrust carried on, every action meticulously planned to make him crazy and push him to the edge, where he stayed through almost the whole encounter. It worked perfectly, minutes later, Patrick was begging for mercy and trying to get his hand off his cock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanna come. Please, Pete.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re so cute.” He caressed his face with his thumb. Patrick choked on a moan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really, I need… No.” He denied repeatedly, unable to form a coherent sentence. “God.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll kill you.” He roared, the tears of frustration came back and the pain in his face was more noticeable. “What do I have to do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t do anything sweetheart.” He showed him a smile. “How long since you haven't come?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Since the last time that…” He closed his eyes for a couple of seconds, then he forced himself to open them again. “We did it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oww. Poor little thing.” He pretended to get sad, the phoniness in his voice was insulting, “Such a pity, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He clawed his nails on his back. So desperate that he tried to push Pete away, which had the opposite effect because he held him and fucked him harder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please.” He sobbed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How polite. Always asking please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not playing, bastard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me neither.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There wasn’t anything that Patrick could do to avoid it at that moment. Not even the grip on his cock, so he stopped trying to win the battle. Pete felt him tense up, with the sight fixated on him and his eyes full of tears. He shivered and threw his head back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One, two flicks of his wrist combined with thrusts and Patrick had come in his hand and his own stomach, twisting under his touch, moaning and red to his neck. He covered his face with his hands out of shame. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Pete didn’t stop fucking him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick struggled and tried to push him again with useless attempts that did nothing because he had him taken by the arms now, unable to move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It hurts.” He let out with a broken voice, fighting not to sob uncontrollably. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sensitive, baby?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just came, motherfucker. What were you expecting?” His voice cracked on the last syllable because of a hiccup, Pete tugged his hair to get close to his ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Watch your mouth, sweetheart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or what?” He let out a mocking laugh. “This isn’t about you, okay? I don’t give a fuck what you feel right now. At this moment you’re just a hole to me, you understand?” Patrick let out a cry of pain. “You understand?” He kissed his neck before letting him go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Patrick was so receptive before him, so sensitive. It was delicious. Every time that he went in deep he shivered and tried to pull away because of the pain of not recovering from the recent orgasm. Pete had to reinforce the grip on his hips and force him to stay still. To take him even if he couldn’t. Oh, and his little and helpless Patrick couldn’t do anything to stop him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop, Pete. Please.” He wouldn’t. He didn’t have to. His ass was illegally tight and hot, it didn’t compare to anything he had fucked in his entire life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick was always a level beyond in everything, above himself and everyone around him. Naturally talented in music, sucking dick, singing. A genius in many ambits, despite being a little clumsy on the social one. Solid gold, while the rest of humanity was just plated in it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeing him cry underneath him was mesmerizing. Finally, he could put him down to his level, step over his ego to teach him a lesson. Make him dirty to show him, and himself that they were nothing more than just animals guided by their instincts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He placed a hand around his neck, caressing with his thumb the smooth skin below his fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you get tired of fighting?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not fair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t fight fair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stopped fucking Patrick until he could catch his breath and he gave himself another moment to appreciate him, that was his favorite part of these encounters. His dick was still soft against his stomach, traces of come spread over his skin, like a canvas that captures the most obscene of illustrations, a product of the impeccable brush of a twisted artist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He directed his thumb towards there, capturing what he could, and pushed it into Patrick’s mouth, who, besides the shame in his face, cleaned his fingers with his tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The most beautiful of the impure beings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purity was tasteless, anyway. It didn’t add anything interesting to life, besides the certainty of being the only one to have tasted him. It was one of the reasons why he had withered. Once the novelty of having taken the boy’s virginity had worn down, when he had become accustomed to him and he stopped feeling exotic, everything went downhill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete cursed his past self, so immature and inept. Selfish and hyperactive. If only he had done his job of protecting him; if only he had been able to love him as he deserved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick looked done, and in a charming way. Beautiful lips in a tight line and cheeks covered in traces of tears. Pete kissed every trace and caressed the delicate skin on his bare torso. He shivered when his fingertips coursed through his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pete.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, sweety?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leave me alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never, Trick. You’re mine, remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know if he meant that specific moment or the rest of their lives, but the answer would be the same anyway. Patrick clawed his nails on his back hard and shook his head; Pete took his dick in his hand, caressing the tip with his thumb, looking with satisfaction at the suffering in his expression and the pitiful way in which he tried to drown his sobs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s your fault for coming so fast.” He mocked. “How old are you? You’re too old for that, Tricky.” He scratched him in response, Pete didn’t like his attitude at all, so he grabbed his face firmly, digging his fingers in his cheeks. “What did I tell you?” He hissed. Patrick shook his head and cried silently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was so receptive, that he could feel him tighten around him, and the sounds that came out of his throat were a melody composed just for his ears, with music sheets that would make Johann Sebastian Bach’s skin bristle. When he was drunk in pleasure, Patrick used to be loud, he never held back, not even if the situation merited the opposite. It was delicious, again, but now he was seriously considering gagging him. It was annoying, because his cries and whimpers, along with everything else, were pushing him to the end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reinforced the grip on his hips, using his body for his own pleasure, without a care for his pleads or cries. That was what Patrick needed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The conversation that had led to that aspect of the relationship and been awkward. Patrick had just turned twenty-four and while they were on the way to record their first live album, Pete had noticed some things in his behavior. He had to force him to talk like it was obvious; the kid could be grave when it was about paraphilias or fantasies that ashamed him. Patrick ended up reluctantly confessing his kinks and things that he wanted to try out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Only with him, he had noticed, because with his official partners he was all a fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>gentleman</span>
  </em>
  <span>, unable to show his true face).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hypocrite. He was so in love with him that it was counterproductive and it developed into the opposite effect. The bitterness was like a secondary effect of love, just like dependence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you like it?” He asked with an auto sufficient smile on his face. Patrick just hissed with anger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you think?” Then an </span>
  <em>
    <span>ah</span>
  </em>
  <span> when Pete grazed his prostate. His smile widened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You love it. This is what you like, isn’t it? Being used and being treated like what you are.” He didn’t dare to ask, it was implicit in his tone. “You’re always speechless when I tell you the truth, can’t you even deny it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wouldn’t make him admit it this time, seeing the effect of humiliation in his body was more than enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you stop talking?” His breath hitched and turned into a small whine. Pete covered his mouth with his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re so beautiful, Tricky. But you’re much prettier when you’re quiet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had ways to stop a scene in those times when he gagged him or restricted his movement. They weren’t that stupid. But this was not even closest to the most intense that they had ever played together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kept fucking him until it was too much even for him until satisfaction, pleasure, and unwavering, dirty love gained control of his mind. Until there wasn’t anything else but white noise and Patrick and he felt the overwhelming need to give himself in entirely to him. It was inevitable, the colliding of feelings and sexual desire, and overall, dirtiness. The filthy, impure gloom that tied them together until death does them part. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grabbed him by the thighs with strength, more bruises forming. More guilt over his shoulders for the next day; but Patrick’s skin was just that easy to mark, even the slightest pressure could do it. It would be heresy not to take advantage of that. He couldn’t even complain, he just opened his mouth and squeezed his back with unexpected strength.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna come.” He warned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not inside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t remember asking you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grabbed him in a way that would be impossible for him to free himself. It would’ve been great to prolong it for longer, but he wasn’t able anymore. He let out a growl and he let himself go, thrusting up a few more times to enjoy the warm tightness of him before leaving him. He stayed silent, panting, and admiring him before pulling out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kneeled on the bed, spreading Patrick’s legs under his confused look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you…?” A few seconds later he got an answer. “Oh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His skin was red, injured. A clear and blunt </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pete Wentz was here.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A lewd smile appeared on his face. The first traces of come began sliding to the sheets. Patrick spread his legs further and moaned, his cock twitched interested and Pete knew what was going on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, Trick.” He muttered. “You’re still just the same. Insatiable and mine, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never was yours, Peter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughed and shook his head. That was a lie they could both keep for a limited time, then they ended up looking for each other thanks to the law of gravity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever you say, little one.” Patrick was about to complain about the pet name but closed his mouth immediately when Pete inserted two fingers back in, redirecting the come inside him and observing the mess forming on the mattress.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick stopped pretending, tired, and moved his hips against his hands, fucking himself on his fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, Pete.” His throat was wrecked. “I can still feel you.” He sobbed in pleasure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He moved his fingers in and out, without a rush, looking as the cum slid from his hole. He loved it so much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He debated if he should or not withdraw his fingers, since Patrick was still soft. He tried, but he stopped him and told him to add another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm?” He replied, moving his fingers aside to replace them with his tongue. Patrick moaned high and loud; to then frown, disgusted. “Pete! You’re a-...” He didn’t finish his sentence and pushed Pete’s head against him with his right hand. “God, yes. Don’t you even think about stopping right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As demanding as always.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bossy</span>
  </em>
  <span> bottom when he wasn’t being dominated and Pete was obsessed with every side of his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Slow down a bit and use two fingers. Leave your tongue there.” He demanded. Pete followed his instructions with devotion. Patrick had learned his lesson, and though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, he missed the usual dynamic they had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The certainty that Patrick wouldn’t leave him again instilled itself in his chest. They couldn’t be apart for long. The connection that they had gone far beyond their understanding and a couple of occasional fights wouldn’t be enough to lessen it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He worked following Patrick’s instructions precisely, feeling him clench and moan. As minutes passed by, his voice cracked and turned needier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Next time I’m going to tie you to the bed, sweetheart, and I’ll bring you to the edge so many times, Tricky, and I won’t let you come until your pretty eyes are full of tears”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Edging?” He asked, interested. Pete pushed against his prostate and Patrick tried to make him go deeper. “Everything you want. I’m yours, Pete.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And if I make you come until you pass out?” He tempted him. Patrick moaned at the idea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Use me however the fuck you want. I don’t care.” He bit his bottom lip so hard he drew blood. “Fuck, another finger. Make it hurt.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For God’s sake, Patrick.” He growled. “It’s always the quiet ones” He joked, which he didn’t take well; he grabbed him by the hair and snapped his fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When you get hard again I’m gonna ride you. You’re not coming back home early today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You overestimate me. I’m thirty-four, in case you forgot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, no problem. Brendon is in LA…” He suddenly thrusted three fingers in, Patrick whimpered and shut his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which part of you is mine don’t you understand?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m married, and not to you, you fucking moron.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As if you cared about that.” He snorted. “Nice song, The “I” In Lie. Did you write it thinking about me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t write autobiographical songs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Neither do I.” He said sarcastically. Patrick laughed under his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had written endless squanderings of ink on the paper about what he felt for Patrick. At that point, every song was about him somehow, and he couldn’t take that back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick wanted it to hurt; he’d make sure he delivered, maybe enjoying it a bit more than he should. That’s why they fit so well together: because both he and Patrick were sadomasochists. The boy leaned more towards the masochist side and, depending on his mood, he could read Patrick’s body language to see how they would play that time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More.” He begged breathlessly. Pete raised an eyebrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not even hard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m almost thirty, in case you had forgotten.” He repeated like he had done, snorting. But oh well, that would give Patrick what he wanted. Pete laughed softly and pressed his lips against his entrance while he fucked him with his fingers. “Pete! Stop doing that goddammit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then you don’t want me to…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you dumbfuck. Just tell me before you do it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did we say about attitude?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop talking and keep fucking me, bastard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I liked it better when you were crying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Make me cry again, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You leave me no choice, Lunchbox.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought we’d left pet names in 2004.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For God’s sake, shut your fucking mouth.” He growled. Patrick was about to protest again because he was a bitch that couldn’t follow instructions if he wasn’t on subspace, so he had to submit him again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He got up to get Patrick’s tie, which was somewhere under the bed, and when he found it, he stuffed it into his mouth. He secured it as he could to prevent him from talking. Patrick complained, as usual, he even had to stop a fist coming towards his face. That reminded him of the first years of the band and Patrick strangling him at a gas station. His temper hadn’t changed in the slightest, he only had learned to control it in public.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should’ve used the tie to tie you up.” He muttered to himself. “Very well, sweetie. Hands behind your back.” Patrick refused, but Pete wasn’t in the mood to deal with him anymore. “Jesus fucking Christ.” He didn’t have a choice, he had to get his pants and get the belt. Patrick shivered and looked at him expectantly, intrigued. “I’m sorry, it’s not for what you’re thinking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held his hand behind his back and immobilized him with his knee to tie him up with the belt. Patrick let out a disappointed sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whipping never worked as a punishment. Patrick misbehaved on purpose to get them, which turned out adverse to the purpose. So he had started using them as a reward, but he didn’t deserve them today.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now Patrick was mesmerizing, unable to move; with his face against the pillow and his legs spread, offering a scene that he knew, Pete couldn’t resist. He spanked him lightly, just for fun and that was enough to melt Patrick, but it wasn’t enough, so he growled in complaint.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope. None of that, sweetheart.” He enjoyed his reaction when he grazed his entrance. He pushed in two fingers without warning. “You take it so well, Trick. I could fuck you right now.” A pity. He worked his fingers for a few seconds, without touching his prostate, to bother him and frustrate him enough. He didn’t pay attention to his dick either. If Patrick wanted him to make him cry again, he would gladly do it (It wasn’t even that hard, he was a crybaby when he got fucked the way he liked it). Only he could make him feel like that. He bit his lower lip as he remembered Brendon, he frowned, the jealousy combusted inside him before he could stop it. He stopped moving them, Patrick looked at him over his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re mine, Tricky.” He spat. “Only mine, understood?” He removed the improvised gag from his mouth so he could answer him. “Come on, say it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m yours, Petey. Please…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does Brendon make you like this too?” He mocked at his desperation and stopped his hips from moving with his free hand. “Tell me, Patrick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s very good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah?” He removed his fingers to add a third one and grazed his prostate. “Are you sure?” Patrick couldn’t answer, Pete made sure to make him whimper and beg again. “You know what? I’m tired. “What if I just leave you like this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! Pete, p-please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, sweetie. I guess that Brendon could help you…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want him. I only want you, Pete, do something.” He replied desperately. Pete smiled wide and rewarded him with slow and deep thrusts, and placed a soft kiss on his thighs, just above one of the marks he had left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy.” Patrick exhaled relieved when Pete kept the rhythm and began fucking himself with his fingers. It was kind of hard since he couldn’t move a lot. He kissed every single bruise on his thighs gently and Patrick moaned unable to resist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Touch me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, Rick. I know you can come just from my fingers.” He whispered, Patrick, nodded and rolled his hips. “Very well, beautiful. Come on, I know you can do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick sobbed quietly, his throat unable to make any sound. Pete could feel how close he was and didn’t speed up his rhythm, he knew better than making that newbie mistake. He bit softly one of his cheeks, just because he couldn’t resist it and Patrick responded to the pain with a pleased mutter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Pete…</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you close?” Patrick nodded, Pete, kissed the most recent mark. “It’s okay, baby. You can do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, love. Come for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick let out a broken sob and moved against him a few times until he moaned, hiding his face in the pillow. Pete knew he had come for the high sound in his throat and because he had clenched charmingly around his fingers. Pete sighed, wishing he could’ve replaced them with his cock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He removed his fingers and untied Patrick, he lied on his back, trying to catch his breath. He took the advantage to take a quick shower, brush his teeth, and get his bag since Patrick was still drunk in an orgasmic gaze. He didn’t bother dressing again, he just put on a bathrobe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once everything was ready, he sat next to him in bed and took his face in his hands to kiss him lovingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna take care of you, okay?” He asked though he doubted that Patrick could process his words right now. He didn’t wait for an answer and took the package of wipes. He carefully cleaned his body and come stains. “You were so good, Tricky. Such a good boy. I love you so much.” He kissed him once more. “I’ll go make you a bath, okay?” He spoke slowly so Patrick could understand him, he nodded and closed his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, Pete.” He whispered with the little strength he had left. Pete smiled and kissed his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll come back for you in a minute, can you wait for me?” Patrick nodded again, Pete left him alone, despite that being the last thing he wanted to do at that moment. He filled the bathtub with warm water, while it filled up, he looked for a bottle of water in the fridge and a chocolate bar. Sadly, there weren’t any scented candles in the hotel, the smell usually calmed him down. He sighed and took a quick look at the bathtub. It was ready, so he came back to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He noticed that he was crying, this time not from pleasure or frustration. It was anguish that didn’t come from the scene. He kneeled next to him and caressed his face, worried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Drink water, baby.” He whispered, Patrick did and Pete held him in his arms. “It’s okay, love. Everything’s okay. Do you wanna talk about it?” He shook his head. “Okay, we’ll do it at your pace.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick looked for his lips; Pete kissed him slowly, caressing his face with his thumb, trying to convey all the love he felt for him. The unmeasurable love in a soft kiss without any sexual undertones. The sobs disappeared and the hiccups slowed down until they were gone. Once Patrick’s breathing was calmed, he stood and carried him in his arms. He cuddled and hid his face in his neck, Pete kissed his hair and took him to the bathroom, placing him carefully on the bathtub. He remembered the chocolate bar and gave it to him, putting it in his mouth. Patrick bit it and looked up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better?” He asked, Patrick, smiled. “Later I’ll give you an ointment and painkillers, okay? I couldn’t find ice, but I guess we can work with that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick sighed when Pete passed the soap through his body. He was weak, and wouldn’t be able to do it for himself. He saw him more relaxed, peaceful. They had played rougher than he had planned at the beginning, but it hadn’t gotten out of hand, which had him calm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took his time and rubbed his hair, the shampoo smelled soft, though it wasn’t the usual smell that Patrick had, but it was the only thing that he could find at the hotel. The atmosphere was so intimate that Pete felt melancholic. He could have this for the rest of his life if he hadn’t ruined it (so much and so many times).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finished, lifted him from the bathtub, and took him to bed to dry him up comfortably. Before getting him into a bathrobe, he looked for the ointment in his bag to treat any kind of wound and avoid inflammation, then he gave him a couple of painkillers with a bottle of water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could you…?” He asked weakly. Pete nodded and lied down next to him, hugging him. Patrick grabbed his hands and caressed the back of his hands with his fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you feel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Confused.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too harsh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not your fault.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then…?” He swallowed. Patrick looked more reserved than usual after a scene. He took their interlocked fingers and placed a soft kiss. “You know I love you, right? ‘Cause I do, Tricky. I love you so much.” Patrick tensed, but didn’t talk; Pete was more confused. “That song you said last time… It didn’t make it into your album.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I told you. It was very</span>
  <em>
    <span> us</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wrote it for me.” He stated, Patrick didn’t say anything again, which to him, meant an implicit </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “You know why I called you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To fuck?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. The post you wrote, Patrick. I’m worried.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Confessions of a Pariah. “We liked you better when you were fat”.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Something inside of Pete twisted when he read it, tearing the air out of his lungs. The pain in his words was evident. Pete knew that it was a silent cry for help and he promised himself that he would be there for Patrick (though he wasn’t there when half of his world was falling apart).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was a bad time, I’m sorry. I didn’t even…” He didn’t finish his sentence, he replaced the last word with a melancholic sigh. “I don’t know, Pete. I have no idea what’s going on with my life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel like that since you left,” Pete admitted. “But you have something that I don’t. Talent. Soul Punk was an underrated wonder. Did you know that I have five copies on CD and seven on vinyl? It’s one of the best albums I’ve ever listened to, and I’m not saying it because I’m your…” He didn’t find a noun that fit, and he bit his lower lip. “You know I’m very straightforward, remember when I made that guy cry because I said that Pretty. Odd. sounded like trash?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t sound like trash.” He frowned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, because I and the producers had to get involved to fix the mess it was when they presented the demos; but that’s not the point here, Patrick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pete, it was a disaster. A disaster that left me on the brink of bankruptcy.” He muttered. “It sold very little copies and you know that a lot of people bought tickets just to tell me that I suck without Fall Out Boy. All my life revolves around what I achieved at that time and that stopped being fun long ago. Without you guys, I don’t even know who I am anymore… I feel as if I was Paul Sheldon and the band was Misery Chastain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete bit his bottom lip, it was becoming a habit. The selfish part of him was reveling, because he, without Fall Out Boy, didn’t feel like anything either. When he found out about Truant Wave, he panicked. He even got to entertain the possibility that Patrick would never come back, that he realized that he was so much more, that being trapped with him was stopping him from reaching his full potential.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I would be Annie Wilkes, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. It’s not that. It was a bad example. Forget about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t. It fit perfectly with the current situation. He didn’t know what to say, so he bit his tongue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Tricky. Fall Out Boy isn’t anything without you, We wouldn’t have gotten anywhere if you hadn’t shown up at my basement that one time. Okay, maybe Andy and Joe would have, but me… I need you, Patrick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried not to pressure him, but it was an implicit plea. He didn’t have a plan B, nor any direction. The band he had attempted with Bebe hadn’t gone past a couple songs, because the guilt of even thinking about replacing Patrick was too much to bear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We could try.” He said, unsure. “We can try writing together again, I don’t guarantee anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll use my song.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have one prepared?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean Miss Missing You.” He said, Patrick swallowed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not about you.” He gave himself away with his tone. Pete placed his chin over his shoulder. “Well, the band will come back, but we won’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you talking about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This.” He pointed out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I need you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need a stable relationship. I can’t… I can’t keep up with this. I can’t do this to Lisa… I tried to talk to her, but I couldn’t. I’d break her heart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leaver her and stay with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick just let out a humorless laugh, like the idea was so improbable. The pain of rejection squeezed what was left of his heart. It was always the same, he didn’t know why he thought this time would be different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Assuming that the band came back...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said it yourself that we never broke up.” He pointed out. Patrick made a dismissive motion with his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We broke up, Pete. We didn’t see each other for two full years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Without counting the encounters during Soul Punk, huh? </span>
  </em>
  <span>But he didn’t dare open his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was your fault.” He said sourly. Pete had tried to reach him day and night, Patrick had disappeared leaving no trace behind and that had been devastating for his mental health.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t blame him, but his departure had helped his decline. When he was younger, he could call him to hear his voice and find comfort in its melody, when he felt like he had no more will to keep living, Patrick was there to help him get on his feet; but suddenly he wasn’t there anymore and he didn’t know what to do. He had forgotten how to be alone thanks to him and, when he found her again, the void had turned unbearable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ground had disappeared under his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry. It was something I had to do. If I stayed there I don’t know what would have been of me. I was miserable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were kids, Patrick. We were immature and we didn’t know what we were doing. Let’s burn it all and start all over again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It seems like a good concept. But I don’t know if it’ll be enough. What if we fail again, Pete? Remember what happened with Folie? The kids hated it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was a trip.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything related to that album had gone terribly wrong. From production, with them fist fighting over chord progressions; the horrible reception from the fans and the context after that. The wedding with Ashlee, her pregnancy. Patrick breaking. Love tearing them apart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We got to the top too soon and it was all downhill from there. I don’t think we can recover.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can only try and see what happens.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess so.” He sighed. “What happened to Black Cards?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You weren’t there.” He shrugged. Pete caressed his face with the tips of his fingers. There was something in his boy’s mind, but making him confess was like walking on water. “Come on, Trick. The kids need us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were gone for too long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Believers never die.” He whispered. Patrick giggled melancholic, turning to look him in the eye. Shiny, nostalgic; eyes that he had fallen in love with so long ago and until now, he still fell for them every single day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Let’s do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete laughed and grabbed his face to kiss him. He was touching the sky with his fingertips, despite his soles still being in hell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know I won’t let you go.” He added with sudden fear, seconds later. Patrick looked at him for a long while without opening his mouth, no identifiable expression in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Panic started to grow again, slow, coursing through his veins stubbornly. A useless feeling, because he had already heard the answer from his lips minutes ago, but the hope for a change of heart refused to die.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re tearing each other apart,” Patrick said, breaking the silence, Pete didn’t have enough fingers to count all the times he had heard those words. “Better said, you’re tearing me apart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We could try…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too late to try.” He counterattacked. “Do you know how many times you broke my heart? I don’t think I can recover from something like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me?” He laughed in disbelief. “You were the one that threw away every single attempt we had at making this work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you really want to talk about that now?” He sighed “Get it, Peter. We’re sexually compatible, what else? We’re not even friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were my best friend.” He replied hurt. “My other half.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Past tense. Nowadays Bronx doesn’t even remember me. Did you forget? Or did your brain cells burn out?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on with you, Patrick? You’re so defensive, calm down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you think?” He replied sarcastically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me see, last time we did it I showed you the song and you said you were in love with me,” Pete said. “Then you walked away without even saying goodbye and months after that I got an invitation to your wedding… On the mail, Patrick. You couldn’t even call me, what happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give me your phone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you need it for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Airplane mode, like I thought.” He laughed humorlessly again. “It’s okay, I don’t care. You think she’s okay with this?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re divorced.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not talking about Ashlee, darling.” He spat the pet name bitterly. “You know who I mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Patrick, you’re…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop, Pete. I don’t understand you. You swear to love me forever and then you do shit like this. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? I’m not stupid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt his mouth dry like he had swallowed a bunch of sand. He swallowed hard, licked his lips, but it wasn’t enough. He had the Sahara Desert in his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you wouldn’t come back. You didn’t even answer my texts. I felt lonely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And now?” He asked, but didn’t dare answer. “You’re not gonna leave her to be with me, are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s the first time in a long time that I have something so nice with someone.” He admitted. “Not even Ashlee made me feel like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s so beautiful, she looks like a model.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She is, actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where did you meet her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In our therapist’s waiting room.” He giggled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your eyes shine when you talk about her.” He muttered. He sighed and cuddled into his chest. “Why are you doing this to her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you doing it too? You told me that Lisa was the love of your life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I hate myself and I can’t live without you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We are in the same, Tricky.” He kissed his forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick’s breathing slowed down until there was nothing left to say. He played with his hair, the bittersweet taste in his mouth would never go away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quoting the fourth song he wrote thinking about him;</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If you say this makes you happy then I’m not the only one lying.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well, there's that! This was my first translation and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sxmi_Sweet/pseuds/Sxmi_Sweet">@Sxmi_Sweet</a> was lovely enough to let me translate his oneshot to english&lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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